


My Heart is Yours

by artandcrime



Category: Supernatural, Wincest - Fandom
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Wincest - Freeform, wincest fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-27
Updated: 2019-08-27
Packaged: 2020-09-27 14:00:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20408920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artandcrime/pseuds/artandcrime
Summary: Sam and Dean share a few beers, and a few secrets.





	My Heart is Yours

“I love you.” They were on their fourth beer when he said it. When Sam spoke the words he had been thinking the day he could see, really see, those pretty green eyes that belonged to his older brother. The brother who called him Sammy, who held him on the floor of a dingy motel room when he decided life was getting to be too much, the brother who, every night, stroked Sam’s hair until he fell asleep because it proved to lessen the chance of nightmares paying a visit. Sam was seventeen, Dean was twenty one, and they were each other’s, always have been. Though they didn’t talk about the little dance they did in the ballroom of both their mind’s. Until. Right. Now.  
“I know.” Of course Dean knew. They would die a thousand times over for each other. If that isn’t love, Dean couldn’t grasp the concept.  
“No, Dean. Ah...” Sam caught his eyes for the first time in a while, he couldn’t bear looking into them. It hurt sweetly, and softly. Achingly so.  
“More than I should.” His pleading features begged Dean not to walk out on him. Not to pack his bags and never look back, not to leave him alone with his nightmares. His brother’s hand was already turning a ghost where it rested on his arm as they slept. And not to forever look at Sam a different way, never returning to what they used to be. That would sting the most. Would be more painful than a knife to the chest, shredding his insides.  
Dean just stared at him, reading novels upon novels in his expressions, about all of Sam’s deepest inner thoughts over the past seventeen years, as he just knew his baby brother that well.

“I know,” he repeated. There wasn’t any word for it. 'Soulmates' would be as accurate as words could get. Because their whole lives together was just that: together. Closer than Dean would’ve ever imagined any two people could be. So close that when Dean held Sam at night, he swore he could feel a part of himself getting lost in the beautiful boy laying next to him.  
After the long silence that followed, Sam’s voice was small, and almost a whimper, “De...You gotta, you gotta tell me something. Even if it’s, y’know, you sayin’ I’m disgusting or you hate me. Just something, I- your voice.” He could feel the tears hastily burning his cheeks, and he let his head fall in shame. What else could he do?  
“Don’t, Sam. Don’t.” Everything was out in the open, released into the atmosphere, yet Dean was inexplicably terrified as he tilted Sam’s face up again. Let his thumb rest on his swollen lips. He always did bite his lips but Dean knew he did it more when he was nervous. And he had a reason to be. Years and years of walls they built were being shattered over four bottles of beer. It doesn’t matter anyway, as a part of them always could see through each other’s.  
“You gotta know I love you too, don’t ya? Or are you just as big of a dumbass as I thought you were?” Dean was smiling and running his thumb over and over again on Sam’s bottom lip. Sam let out a laugh that sounded airy and soft. It was sun-soaked music to Dean, and he couldn’t help but lean closer to his brother’s face to hear more of it.  
“I thought about this so much, and I still don’t know what to say. But, De, goddamn do I wanna kiss you,” he bit at his mouth and his brother’s thumb remained there, his grip on Sam’s face and his fingers in his hair tightening. The dam inside Dean broke, leaving biblical floods and destruction in its wake. His whole being was based around his iron will and self control, but it was slipping away, and fuck if his baby brother wasn’t the one thing that could tear him apart. So he did it. He took Sam’s mouth with his own, and despite the years of hatred and anger towards himself for wanting exactly this, it was a calm and sweet kiss. It was slow, and Dean could feel Sam wanting more. Endlessly more, and all Dean could do was give it to him; he never could deny his brother of anything.  
At the first broken noise that came from Sam’s throat and seeped into his, Dean stopped, giving the wild, wrecked boy in front of him pause with a hand to his chest.  
“Are you sure?” was all he said. And all he received in return was a nod, the most sympathetic, sincere movement Dean’s ever witnessed. Sam moved so he was sitting on his brother’s legs, waist just barely touching waist, delved his head in the space where Dean’s neck meets his shoulder, and held on to him like he was dying. They had now given everything to each other. There was no love kept in the shadows, it was all there. And, god, it felt incredible.  
“I don’t think I’ll ever be able to take my lips off you,” Sam whispered against Dean’s neck.  
“Jesus, Sam,” he craned his head as Sam was leaving a trail of burning kisses up his neck. They wanted to go further, to dive off this cliff and not care about anything else, but they couldn’t. At least, not right now.  
So after a few minutes of selfishly indulging in the feeling of Sam’s tongue on his skin, Dean said, “Hey, c’mere. You’re tired and drunk, and I’m tired and drunk.” Sam gave his older brother another nod and climbed up to the top of the bed to lay with him. Dean’s arms around his waist, his arms around Dean’s shoulders, fingers playing with his short hair, and, of course, lips locked, as Sam wasn’t lying about his 'promise’ earlier.


End file.
